


I Love You I Hate You

by TheGreatCatsby



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Olympics, all the setters are figure skaters, figure skating AU, iwaizumi is oikawa's manager probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/pseuds/TheGreatCatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Figure skating is a lonely sport.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Koushi

**Author's Note:**

> I made a tumblr post a while ago about a Haikyuu!! figure skating AU, and then a ficlet to accompany that. This is an expansion of both of those. Why figure skating? Because I love figure skating! Not that I don't love volleyball, but I played volleyball in high school and I kind of love figure skating more even though I can't do it. It's just so intense, and lovely to watch. 
> 
> As for references for what the three main characters skate like, I had some specific figure skaters in mind. For how Sugawara skates, look up Jason Brown (especially his 2014 US Championship free skate). For Oikawa, I was thinking of Evan Lysacek. For Kageyama, I was thinking of Yuzuru Hanyu (I mean his Olympics skates...wow.) If you've never seen any of these skaters before, or figure skating in general, you're in for a treat!

“We’re on the same team, Tobio-chan! Be nice to meee!” 

Koushi tries to ignore Oikawa, but it’s impossible. Oikawa's goal in life is to make himself noticed. On Oikawa’s other side, Kageyama sits with his fists clenched. 

In an ideal world, Koushi wouldn’t be sitting with the two other members of the Japanese Men’s Figure Skating Olympic Team. But upon arrival, all figure skaters were sent to an orientation of sorts outlining the rules and regulations they’d have to abide by during their time at the Olympics. And then Oikawa had wanted to sit down and have a talk. 

“Right,” Koushi says. He keeps an outward appearance of calm, even though inside he wants nothing more than to run and hide. It isn't like Oikawa means what he says. Oikawa is trying to get inside their heads, freak them out. Koushi won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking it’s working. 

Kageyama on the other hand… 

“Only the strongest stay on the ice,” he growls, and then stalks off. 

Oikawa turns to Koushi, pouting. “What’s that supposed to mean? It’s like he’s insulting my skills before we even get on the ice!” 

Our skills, Koushi thinks, but he just shrugs and says, “Kageyama’s a little intense.” 

“And what about you, Suga-kun?” Oikawa chirps. “When it all ends, will you still be on the ice?” 

“We all will be,” Koushi says. Which is technically true. Very few people get eliminated between the short and free skate.

“You know what I mean,” Oikawa says. 

Koushi just gives him a blank look. 

“Right,” Oikawa says, “I have to go bug Iwa-chan about my roommate. He’s an ice dancer.” He makes a face and stands up. “Later!” 

Koushi watches Oikawa rush off and takes a deep breath to steady himself. He’ll admit, he is afraid. This is his first Olympics, and there’s a lot riding, not just on him, but on the Japanese team in general to perform well. For the first time in years, Japan is able to send three competitors to the men’s figure skating competition. 

Koushi knows that his placements in past competitions have something to do with it. That still doesn't help erase the doubt gnawing away at him, that he's not good enough, that he doesn't belong here representing his country with a genius like Kageyama and a dedicated skater like Oikawa. 

*

“You two are the new kids on the block,” Ukai tells him, “so they're gonna try to make something of it.” 

Koushi hadn't understood what that meant until the reporters arrived, and with them came questions. The most frequent question being, “What do you think about Oikawa Tooru?” 

He doesn't think anything about Oikawa Tooru. Koushi and Oikawa have never talked to each other, even though they've competed against each other in junior competitions. But those competitions were always a stepping stone to something better, so he never dwelled on them if he did well. 

In the world of adult figure skating, there is much to dwell on whether he does well or not. The stakes seem higher, the rivalries more intense, the standards more rigorous. There's no time for anything that doesn't have to do with the ice. 

It's his first national championship, and luckily for him, he skates both his short and free skates before Oikawa does. 

Typically, Koushi doesn't watch the competition. But Oikawa's name has come up an annoying amount of times, so he decides to watch Oikawa's free skate. 

Oikawa owns the ice. As soon as he skates on, the rink is his. The music starts, and Koushi's stomach sinks, and Oikawa performs a flawless quad, and it's over. It's all over, Koushi thinks. He's average at best, and this is a true champion. There are no mistakes, no hiccups. Oikawa goes into every jump, every spin, every piece of footwork and every gesture with the utmost confidence. No hesitation. 

He finishes to a standing ovation and thunderous applause, and Koushi feels strangely lightheaded, and there's a buzzing in his ears. 

“Suga.” Ukai puts an arm around his shoulder. “Breathe.” 

His breathing is erratic. It catches in his throat. His chest feels too tight and he clutches at the fabric over his heart. 

“It's okay,” Ukai says. “You did well.” He doesn't say “don't worry” because he knows Koushi will worry no matter what. 

Eventually, Koushi manages to stop shaking, and the scores are being announced. 

He takes silver, while Oikawa takes gold. 

The reporters are all over them, wanting to know every detail about these two new, young skaters who can bring hope to the future of Japanese figure skating. 

And all Koushi can think about is how second is not good enough. 

“It's the quad,” Ukai says during training the next day. He looks thoughtful. 

“I can't do that,” Koushi says. “There's no guarantee I won't fall.” 

“Hmm. We have a long way to go before you can use that in a competition. But let's not concentrate on what you can't do. You've won before. You placed second.” 

“I need the quad to win,” Koushi says. “I need Oikawa's strength.” 

“You two are different,” Ukai tells him. “You will never be Oikawa. You're not going to win by skating like him. You've won in the past by skating the way you skate. You have a style that speaks to people, Sugawara. You don't need to show off. That's where you surpass Oikawa: connecting with people through your skating. And that's how you'll win.”


	2. Oikawa

“Oikawa, can you stop complaining for two seconds so that I can upload this schedule to your phone.” 

Oikawa sighs and flops back into his chair. Across the table, Iwaizumi fiddles with Oikawa's phone. 

“I'm not going to miss anything,” Oikawa says. “I compete every year.” 

“I don't want to take any chances,” Iwaizumi says. 

“You worry too much, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa chirps, leaning forward and snatching his phone. 

The look Iwaizumi gives him could kill, but Oikawa just laughs. When he's done laughing, Iwaizumi asks, “You're not nervous?” Probably to bring him down a peg or two. 

“Nervous?” Oikawa says the word like it's foreign and flashes Iwaizumi a too-wide smile. “Why would I be? I beat Suga this year at nationals and Tobio-chan may be a genius, but he's,” Oikawa waves his hands, “too worked up or something.” 

“It is the Olympics,” Iwaizumi says. 

“Stop saying that,” Oikawa snaps. Iwaizumi stares at him, surprised. 

“Sugawara and Kageyama aren't your only competitors,” Iwaizumi points out. 

Oikawa gives him a dirty look. “What are you trying to say?” 

“Nothing. I just hope you've thought about it.” 

Oikawa scoffs. But he has thought about it. He's watched videos of the competitors from other countries when he's not been practicing. He's done nothing but think about it, and that Iwaizumi of all people could suggest that he hasn't... 

“Just remember,” Iwaizumi says, “that you do have a team. If you're not in first, but someone else from Japan is, that's still a victory.” 

Oikawa stares at him. “You really don't understand figure skating at all, do you?” 

*

Oikawa won his first National Championship, but the second one is proving difficult. 

And it's all because of Sugawara Koushi. 

He beats Sugawara in the short skate, but just barely. And he's done well in the free skate, but it's Sugawara's turn. The other skater takes to the ice with all the grace of a swan. He looks like snow personified. 

Oikawa finds himself unable to look away. 

Sugawara's most impressive jump is a triple axel, which by Oikawa's standards isn't impressive at all, not when he can do a quad with ease. But that doesn't seem to matter. Sugawara catches his attention with fluid movements timed perfectly to the music, carving a story into the ice of long days and sleepless nights, of putting everything he has into these few moments spent on the rink. 

There's an emotion in there that unravels something in Oikawa's chest. He has the strangest feeling that this performance isn't for Sugawara, but for the people watching him. Like Sugawara wants them to feel what he's feeling. Like he wants to give them something. 

And Oikawa has never skated like that. He's never skated for anyone but himself. 

And then Sugawara stops in the center of the rink and looks out at the audience. Oikawa notices the way his eyes are too bright, the way his lips part slightly, the rise and fall of his chest. Then Sugawara dips into a bow, the audience cheers, and Oikawa finds himself on autopilot, heading to the locker rooms. 

Sugawara wins gold, and Oikawa gets silver, and it shouldn't matter as much as it does but that skate has wormed its way into Oikawa's head. 

He finds Sugawara in the locker rooms, stuffing his skates into a bag. He doesn't notice Oikawa until he stands up to leave, only to find his path blocked. 

“Sugawara,” Oikawa says. “Congratulations.” 

“Same to you,” Sugawara says. He's wary, but sincere. And that sincerity grates on Oikawa's nerves. 

“I wouldn't get used to it,” Oikawa tells him. 

Sugawara looks him in the eye, chin up because Oikawa is taller, and says, “We'll both have to work harder in the future, won't we? And the best skater will be the last one on the ice.” 

Oikawa stares at him. 

Sugawara pushes past him with a, “see you around, Tooru,” and then he's gone.


	3. Koushi

“You’re overthinking again, aren’t you,” Daichi tells Koushi over dinner. Carbs for Daichi, who’s on the national hockey team, and protein and vegetables for Koushi. 

“No,” Koushi says. Daichi gives him a look. “Okay, yes, but I bet you are, too. Don’t tell me you don’t see strategy diagrams every time you close your eyes.” 

Daichi laughs. “You got me. But I have a team behind me.” 

Koushi drops his fork. 

“Sorry,” Daichi says quickly. “I didn’t mean–” 

“It’s fine,” Koushi says. “Figure skating is a lonely sport.” 

“Suga,” Daichi says. 

“Daichi,” Koushi makes an attempt at teasing. 

The corners of Daichi’s eyes crinkle, but he manages not to smile. Just. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking you can’t win this.” 

“Wellll, Kageyama is an unparalleled genius who can do quads with his eyes closed, and Oikawa knows how to charm everyone and he’s really dedicated and probably knows my routine better than I do, and then there's the other skaters from other countries that we haven't even talked about.” Koushi is attempting to joke, but it just sounds like he’s panicking a little. 

“You’ve put just as much work into this as the others,” Daichi points out. He taps his fork against his plate. “Maybe not as much as Kageyama. I hear he doesn’t actually have friends.” 

“I wouldn’t have friends if you weren’t doing an ice sport,” Koushi points out. “And only because you're not in direct competition with me.” 

“Don’t say that,” Daichi says. “Anyone would be lucky to be your friend.” 

“If only I had the time.” Koushi rests his head in his hands. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I just need to sleep. It’s been a long day. We just got here.” Koushi feels drained. But in the past few months, he’s never not felt drained. 

Being in peak competition form means sacrificing a lot. More than he’ll ever let on to Daichi. 

“Yeah,” Daichi says, and Koushi can hear him getting up, taking both their plates to the kitchenette. He realizes another problem right away–he and Daichi are sharing a room. There’s really nowhere to hide. 

Not that he wants to hide from Daichi. But he doesn’t want the other man to worry. They’re all stressed here. They’re all competing. They all want to win. 

He feels Daichi’s strong hands on his shoulders. “You’ll be great,” he says. “Because you love it. And you never give up. Not even when it gets hard.” 

Koushi smiles, even though Daichi can’t see it. “Thank you.” 

He hopes the encouragement is enough to calm his nerves so that he can sleep through the night.


	4. The Team

Sleepless nights, long days, working through pain, eating less and less, all leading to this point. 

“That bastard,” Oikawa growls, his hands clenching at the fabric of his pants. He turns to look at the skater sitting next to him.

Koushi stares ahead. He looks like he's in shock. 

Kageyama leaves the ice. 

Koushi thinks, I don't want to be replaced as Oikawa's top rival. 

And Oikawa thinks, I don't want this brat to take away my gold. 

“He's...wow,” is all Koushi manages to say. 

“He's good,” Oikawa snaps. 

“I heard he's some sort of skating prodigy,” Koushi says. 

“It means nothing if you don't work hard,” Oikawa says. “Besides, he won't talk to me.” 

Koushi actually looks at Oikawa this time. “What?” 

“At least you talk to me,” Oikawa mutters. “He just looks at everyone like he wants to kill them.” 

Kageyama's scores are announced moments later. 

He becomes the new national champion. 

*

Unfortunately, they have to sit together during the short skate. Because they're on the same team. And for some reason, unlike during the world championships, during the Olympics each countries' skaters are made to sit with each other. 

Kageyama looks like he's been carved from a glacier. He won't move, won't even look at them. Koushi bites on his lower lip, the only indication that he's nervous. Oikawa fiddles with his phone. 

Then Kageyama's breath hitches. 

“It's okay to be nervous,” Koushi says without looking at him. “I almost wouldn't step on the ice before my first big competition. My coach had to practically throw me onto the rink.” He says it with a fond smile. 

“What are you doing?” Kageyama demands, glaring at him. 

Koushi's brows draw together in confusion. “Huh?” 

“Don't you want me to lose?” 

“I want you to lose,” Oikawa says. Koushi frowns at him, which makes him feel oddly guilty, so he adds, despite not wanting to, “but it wouldn't be good if our country looked bad so we all have to do well. Which means you can't be sitting here looking like you're about to explode.” 

“What Oikawa meant to say,” Koushi says, “is that we've all been in this position before and even though it seems overwhelming, you've worked hard for this. You know what you're doing. You'll be fine.” 

“That isn't what I meant to say at all,” Oikawa mutters, but he finds Koushi's words strangely comforting. 

The first skater to take the ice is French. 

“If all three of us can make the top ten, that'll be good for Japan,” Koushi murmurs. 

Oikawa and Kageyama tear their eyes away from the first competitor to stare at him. “What are you talking about?” Oikawa asks. 

Koushi gives them a sheepish smile. “It sounds silly, but I don't want to do this by myself.” 

“Huh?” Kageyama blinks. “You have to do figure skating by yourself.” 

“I think what Suga meant to say,” Oikawa says, “is that this is one of the few times where we're competing against other people from other countries instead of just people from our own country. So we're a team. Which means we should support each other like a team does.” 

Koushi practically beams at him. “That's exactly what I meant to say.” 

Oikawa sighs, dramatically. “Fine. Like I said, we can't look bad.” 

Kageyama shakes his head and turns back to watch the first skater finish his performance, but he looks a bit more relaxed. 

Oikawa doesn't want to admit it, but he's a bit calmer, too. There's something reassuring about knowing that the two people next to him, whom he's only ever considered to be enemies, want him to do well (even if they don't want him to win.) There's a fine line between being competitors and being team mates, and right now, Oikawa feels that he's right on that line. Somehow, it makes him feel more confident in what he'll be able to do when he gets out there. 

And Koushi watches the competition, smiling softly to himself, feeling his nervousness and self-doubt start to ebb away because for once, he doesn't feel alone.


End file.
